


Chase the Thrill

by blackkat



Series: criminals do it better [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Humor, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, Team Tobirama, freerunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5653681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hand plucks the comm from Tobirama’s ear, and he glances up with some annoyance to see Madara scowling at him. “I thought you were a <i>lawyer</i>, not Catwoman,” the Uchiha huffs. “And haven’t you noticed this is the <i>eleventh floor</i>, you suicidal moron?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chase the Thrill

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Chase the Thrill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771268) by [HanginThereSA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanginThereSA/pseuds/HanginThereSA)



> I really wanted to read a MadaTobi PWP, so I attempted to write it and failed miserably. (It was intended to turn into office sex, but you can pretty much see the paragraph where Madara and Tobi went ‘lol not happening for another 12k words thanks’.) This is mostly plot-ish stuff. There will be a sequel with lots of Tobirama/Mito bromance stuff happening. Someone please shoot me now. 
> 
> (This takes place pre- _Reduce, Reuse, Recycle_ by several years, because I am too cool to write stuff chronologically [or too lame, that’s a distinct possibility]. As with the last MadaTobi piece the title is from Josef Salvat’s _Shoot and Run_.)

It’s ten o’clock on a beautiful Saturday morning in early spring, and the windows of Tobirama’s office are wide open to admit the gentle breeze. Perhaps it says a little too much about his lifestyle, but Tobirama honestly doesn’t mind being at work on his day off. There's only a little reading to do, and since he’s stopped by on his way elsewhere he’s dressed down in casual clothes, his gym bag at his feet. The air is warm, and it’s one of the first truly balmy days of the year. The smell of green is everywhere, even in the heart of the city, and the old oak that leans beside the window is just starting to bud.

With a low hum of contentment, Tobirama absently pushes up the sleeves of his shirt, brushing the bracelet of wooden beads around his left wrist as he does. His fingers linger there for a moment, eyes drawn away from his files to the simple design, and with the feeling of warmth and new life all around him, he can't fight a smile. Just for a heartbeat, he thinks about finding his phone and calling Hiruzen, simply to talk. It would certainly shock his former student, which would be half the fun, and beyond that, Tobirama hasn’t spoken to him since the last time they met in person. Maybe he can spare half an hour—

The door slams open, hits the wall with a dangerous crack, and rebounds. It just barely misses hitting the figure storming through as it falls shut again, and Tobirama stares at the dent it left in the plaster with annoyance. Maintenance is getting tired of fixing his wall. And his door, come to think of it.

“Yes, Uchiha?” he asks blandly, not even attempting to feel surprised, and doesn’t bother standing. Instead, he looks back down at his case summary and hopes that the Police Commissioner will, for once in his life, take a hint.

Of course, Madara Uchiha does no such thing. He stalks across the room to slam his hands down on Tobirama’s desk, looming over Tobirama with intent and all but baring his teeth. “Are you _trying_ to lose the Hanzō case?” he snarls. “My people worked for _years_ to gather the necessary evidence, and you're calling that—that _child_ to the stand!”

If there's one thing that will never fail to rouse Tobirama’s ire, it’s questioning his ability to do his job. Gritting his teeth against a sudden surge of temper, Tobirama slowly raises his head to meet snapping black eyes and holds that furious gaze squarely.

“Yahiko is an admirable young man and a leader of his community,” he says coolly, flipping the folder in front of him shut as he gives up on even the pretense of reading. “I see no problems in presenting him as a witness to Hanzō’s crimes, especially given that he saw them firsthand. As you would know, since it was your officers who took down his testimony.”

With a wordless sound of fury, Madara spins on his heel and rakes his hands through his wild hair, out of its usual tight tail and looking like the doom of any hairbrush that would dare approach. “That ‘admirable young man’ has a history of paranoia! The jury is going to laugh you out of the courtroom!”

Tobirama fights the urge to roll his eyes. Despite what the critics may say, he didn’t come to his position as the District Attorney through his brother’s influence. He’s won more cases than most lawyers twice his age, and he’s never compromised his ethics. His record should speak for itself, but Madara has never seemed to put an ounce of faith in him, and it grates.

“Hanzō’s is not the largest case I have ever tried,” he bites out, temper fraying. “Nor the hardest. I know what I'm doing, Uchiha, and I’d thank you to remember that. Yahiko’s paranoia began _after_ he escaped Hanzō, for understandable reasons given the fates of his best friends. If anything, his story will inspire sympathy. I’ll get a conviction, you can be sure of that. I want to see Hanzō behind bars just as much as you do.”

Madara's mouth tightens as he stares at Tobirama for a long moment. Then, with a low huff, he levels a threatening finger in his face, and growls, “See that you do, Senju. My people have—”

Tobirama knocks the man’s hand away and rises to his feet. Madara tenses visibly, likely expecting Tobirama to lean forward and start shouting back, but Tobirama ignores that. He has too much dignity, despite his older brother’s best efforts to demolish it, to sink to bellowing like an ape in his own office. Picking up his gym bag, he tucks the files from his desk into a safe pocket, then slings it over his shoulder. There's a freestyle martial arts tournament with open entry starting at noon, and he’s been looking forward to it all month. He’s not about to let a pissy Madara Uchiha make him miss it.

“Your people,” he cuts in sharply, before the very familiar rant can pick up speed, “have done their jobs. Now let me do _mine_ , Uchiha. Excuse me. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s the weekend, and I have plans.” He pauses meaningfully at the door, waiting for the other man to exit, and raises a pointed eyebrow to hurry him along. It’s not nearly as dramatic as simply storming out would be, but Tobirama is an adult. He doesn’t need to resort to melodramatic displays of temper, and besides, he’s hardly about to leave his office either occupied or unlocked, or both.

Madara glares fiercely, but turns on his heel and sweeps out the door, mouth set in a truly ferocious scowl. “Whoever you're meeting, I hope they find out _exactly_ how much of a bastard it is they're dating,” he hisses. “And _don’t_ think this is over. However much you hate the Uchiha, undermining our cases is petty and—”

This time, Tobirama really does roll his eyes. “I have _never_ given a case less than my best effort, and regardless of personal feelings, I never will,” he snaps back, grabbing Madara's arm and spinning him around so they're facing each other. “No matter your paranoia, Madara, or what your ego would have you think, I _do not_ hate the Uchiha. _You_ , however, are a pain in my ass, and the sooner you _stop_ being one, the sooner I can focus my energy on winning this case, rather than placating your _childish tantrums_.”

Satisfied that he’s gotten the last word in, and rather well at that, Tobirama gives Madara one more dark look before he heads for the stairs, shifting his bag’s strap across his chest. There's a shout from behind him, pissed and loud, but he ignores it, taking the steps two at a time down to the main floor. One of the security guards is eyeing him askance, clearly wondering if he should intervene, and Tobirama can hear footsteps pursuing him, but he’s already spent more than enough time in Madara's company for a weekend, and doesn’t pause as he strides out the main doors.

Madara should know better, he thinks darkly, already a block away and turning the corner to cut through an alley when he hears the Uchiha reach the street. He’s not worried about being caught, not now; there are very, very few people with the necessary skills to track him in his own territory, and most of them are overseas right now. For all his efforts, Madara isn’t one of them, which somehow just manages to annoy Tobirama further.

After all, Madara and Hashirama were childhood friends. Tobirama was hardly a clingy tag-along, even at the age of six, but Madara _knew_ him. Moreover, he’s the head of the Uchiha family, and many of the Uchiha know Tobirama rather well; how can Madara think he hates them all? It’s so blatantly stupid that Tobirama wants to bounce the man’s skull off various hard objects until he gets the right idea.

Add to that the fact that apparently Madara thinks Tobirama would throw a case for something like _prejudice_ and it has Tobirama very, very glad he can avoid him until Monday at the least. Of course, that will mean avoiding Hashirama as well—those two are all but joined at the hip, despite Hashirama’s marriage and their very stressful jobs—but given that his brother tends to drive him spare at the best of times, that’s not exactly a hardship.

Decided, Tobirama pauses at a street corner to pull out his phone and text Mito, telling her not to expect him for dinner. Being that it’s a Saturday and she already knows he’s not working late, she’ll likely catch on to the fact that he’s avoiding his brother, but she of all people will understand. After all, just this morning he walked in on her beating Hashirama over the head with her newspaper, swearing at him like the Navy Lieutenant Commander she used to be for some idiotic action Tobirama hadn’t stuck around to hear the details of.

Sometimes—most of the time—Tobirama can't even fathom why Mito married Hashirama.

Then again, most of the time, Tobirama doesn’t understand why he himself has had a persistent crush on Madara since he first became acquainted with his hormones. It’s puerile and ridiculous and _idiotic_ , but that doesn’t change the reality of it. Tobirama imagines Mito’s situation must be something similar.

Either that or Stockholm Syndrome.

By the time the crosswalk light changes to green, Mito’s answering text makes his phone chime, and Tobirama absently checks it as he dodges other pedestrians and a particularly reckless bike messenger.

_Let Hashirama suffer in silence, then. I'm spending the night at my niece’s._

Tobirama snorts softly. Whatever Hashirama did, it must have been particularly aggravating, or the latest in a string of foolish actions. Mito is generally quick to forgive; for her to be decamping to Kushina’s means that Hashirama is definitely going to be in the doghouse for the foreseeable future.

Suddenly, his decision to find a hotel for the night is sounding better than ever. At least this way, Hashirama will have to find someone else to sob out his woes to.

(It will probably be Tōka, Tobirama knows from experience, and she will most certainly not take kindly to the near-desertion. However, she also has more patience than Tobirama, and even when that runs out she’s better at pretending to listen. Tobirama has very few qualms about throwing her under the bus, in this case.)

 _Say hello to Minato and Kushina for me_ , he tells Mito. _And sleep well._

 _Kushina is going to accuse you of trying to steal her husband again,_ Mito fires back.

That makes Tobirama chuckle softly. _I don’t go for married men,_ he types back. _If she divorces him, though, we’ve already agreed that I have first call._

There's a pause, and then Mito answers in two quick bursts. _Now there's an image. ;) Kushina and I will have to discuss this in detail._

Tobirama pauses, staring a little warily at that response. For a moment, he thinks about reminding Mito that she’s supposed to be dignified and middle-aged, not giggling over images of her brother-in-law and niece’s husband in bed together, especially with said niece. However, his curiosity—always a dangerous force—again gets the better of him, and he asks, _Do you think of such things often?_

_Do you really want me to answer that?_

On second thought, Tobirama already knows far too much about her sex life—and, by virtue of proximity, his brother’s—just from living in the same house. He has absolutely no desire to delve into the territory of a married woman’s fantasies. _No_ , he replies quickly. _Please never mention it again_.

Her answer is a bubbly string of hearts, and Tobirama wisely lets the conversation drop.

At the same moment, someone behind him shouts, “SENJU!” in a tone that is half a decibel away from being a roar.

Damn it. So much for not catching up to him.

Strangling his annoyance even as he says goodbye to his dignity, Tobirama breaks into a jog. He _really_ doesn’t want to spend the next three hours banging his head on the brick wall of Madara's stubbornness, and he’s more than willing to go to drastic lengths to escape.

Perhaps, being that he is a fully grown man rapidly approaching thirty, such desperation is unbecoming and shameful. Tobirama will lock anyone who says so in a room with Madara and make _them_ argue him to a standstill. As a lawyer, Tobirama makes his living arguing, but even the most reprehensible, bullheaded criminal defense attorneys have nothing on Madara in a snit.

There's another small alley up ahead, with a dead end and no convenient fire escapes. It doesn’t matter, though—the stonework of the buildings is rough, and though they're taller than he’d prefer, it’s nothing insurmountable. Tobirama hears an offended cry from the street behind him—likely Madara abandoning manners in favor of catching him, because the Uchiha also came by his position honestly and has tackled many a suspect in his career—and picks up speed. He spares half a moment to wish he’d chosen a lighter bag before he jumps, kicking off the wall in front of him, then the one adjacent to it. His momentum carries him high enough to dig his fingers into the cracks in the stones, and he doesn’t pause, climbing as fast as he dares. In moments, he’s bracing a hand on the low wall edging the roof and vaulting up and over to land lightly on the concrete before he pauses, listening.

Barely a handful of seconds later, there's a bellow of rage from below, but Tobirama doesn’t stay to see whether Madara will figure out his escape route. The next building over is lower, butting right up against this one, and Tobirama makes for it at a jog, easily leaping the wall and landing in the midst of the antennas and heating vents. The street corner is below, but Tobirama isn’t about to risk meeting Madara again and takes a sharp left instead of descending back to ground level. Across a wider gap and down a sloping incline is a large, low hotel that runs the length of the block, and Tobirama backtracks once he’s on top of it, picking his way lightly across the weatherworn stones until he reaches the far corner. It will take Madara a few minutes to get this far, he thinks with some satisfaction, and while it means he has to take the long way to the gym, it’s more than worth it.

Getting down is even easier than getting up; the hotel has plenty of window ledges and decorative trim, and Tobirama slides down with only a few pauses to redirect his momentum when it gets dangerous. Landing on the sidewalk, he ignores the stares and crosses the street, dodging traffic. Were Madara to see, Tobirama knows he’d end up cuffed on the ground, arrested for jaywalking or trespassing or something equally inane—it’s happened before—but there are no more shouts, and this time Tobirama doesn’t pause as he ducks around the corner.

Six long blocks without any sign of pursuit, and Tobirama finally breathes out a breath of relief as he pushes open the rear door of the gym, slipping straight into the back room. Several employees glance up curiously, but once they recognize him they wave and go back to their tasks. He’s worked as an instructor before, enough times to remember the door code, and it gives him a more or less free pass to enter this way.

Very helpful in the face of furious ranting Police Commissioners and overbearing older brother Mayors.

When he exits the changing rooms, tugging his workout clothes into place, there are several familiar faces already on the sparring mats—fellow instructors, mostly—and Tobirama pauses, glancing around to see if anyone is in need of a warmup partner. What catches his eye, however, is a familiar head of messy dark hair, stray locks curling up from underneath a folded bandana tied around his brow. The man is leaning against one of the support beams, watching the entrance absently, and Tobirama is bemused to see him. Not half an hour ago, he was thinking of calling his old trainee team, and now here one of them is. Raising a brow, he crosses the room to come up behind his former student, and says pointedly, “Kagami.”

It’s as entertaining as ever to watch Kagami yelp and twitch violently. The younger man whirls, one hand automatically coming up to clutch at his heart, and when his dark eyes settle on Tobirama’s smirk, he groans and sinks back against the pillar.

“ _God_ , Sensei. Don’t you know that normal humans make _noise_ when they move?” he complains.

Tobirama arches a coolly amused brow at him and folds his arms across his chest. “Only if they haven’t been keeping up with their training,” he answers.

Kagami scowls at him, and just for a moment, the resemblance with his uncle is unsettlingly clear. “That would be a valid argument if you weren’t actually and literally _an evil ghost_ ,” he counters. “Has _anyone_ _ever_ heard you sneaking up behind them like the vindictive bastard you are? I bet you leaving the training center cut the dropout rate by _half_ when people stopped having _heart attacks_ all the time.”

Despite himself, Tobirama snorts. “If recruits were that scared of me, they weren’t cut out for the program anyway,” he says dismissively. “Besides, I believe the very best team came through when I was there, and _you_ certainly weren’t scared enough to drop out.”

That gets him a grin, bright and warm, and Kagami opens his arms meaningfully. “Well, aren’t you going to give your favorite student a hug?”

With a roll of his eyes, Tobirama stands still and lets the Uchiha all but tackle him, knocking him back a step. He gives it a count of five before he peels Kagami off of him and distracts him with, “I hear your little brother graduated the Police Academy. Congratulations.”

“Shisui? Yeah, he’s a little nerd, but he did okay,” Kagami agrees fondly, allowing himself to be pushed back. “He keeps getting into arguments with his commanding officer and being assigned stints in Booking as punishment. Pretty soon they're going to start making him clean bathrooms with a toothbrush or something.”

“Headstrong, then?” Tobirama comments, desert-dry. “Well. I’d never have expected _that_. It’s not as though it runs in the family, after all.” When just Kagami gives him a wounded look, he chuckles quietly and says, “May I ask why you were waiting for me? I take it this isn’t a social visit.”

“It _could_ be,” Kagami protests, offended, but at Tobirama’s raised brow subsides with a huff. “It’s not,” he agrees, and then offers his most charming smile, which Tobirama has seen used to devastating effect many times. “It just so happens that I'm trying to find someone who looks hot in formal wear and is good at scaling vertical surfaces without equipment.”

It’s possible Tobirama should be surprised, but he’s honestly not. Kagami is just as much of a workaholic as he is; Tobirama can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Kagami take time off without being forced. That’s one of the things Tobirama has always admired about him.

“Danzō can't do it?” he asks.

Kagami snorts. “No on both counts. Put Danzō in a suit and he looks like a thug in a bad mafia move. And beyond that, his freerunning is terrible. We were planning on having Koharu do it, but she fractured her leg on our last op, and no one else can be spared.”

For a long moment, Tobirama regards his student. Then he sighs, already knowing he’s going to agree, and says simply for the sake of argument, “You do realize that I am otherwise gainfully employed, and no longer a starving law school student dependent on teaching to survive?”

At that, Kagami just laughs. “Because other starving law school students end up training counter-terrorism teams in hand-to-hand and acrobatics,” he points out, wickedly amused. “And other District Attorneys practice freerunning in their spare time, and have been doing six kinds of martial arts since they were four.”

“I was a very frustrated child,” Tobirama says mildly. “And you don’t know that I still practice freerunning. I could have given it up to be a dignified, law-abiding citizen.”

Shooting him a disbelieving look, Kagami snags his hand and holds it up like he’s presenting evidence. “Brick dust,” he offers, smug as a cat. “And there's dirt under your nails when I _know_ you're a neat freak to end all neat freaks. Just what _have_ you been doing, Mr. Honorable Tobirama Senju?”

Tobirama’s answering half-smile is wry. “Avoiding your uncle. Are you going to provide me with the details or not?”

“Madara?” Kagami pulls a face. “Is he harassing you again?”

“Does he ever stop?”

The smile Kagami gives him then is more than innocent enough to be a warning. “You know, if you finally gave in and planted one on him, he might finally be shocked enough to stop shouting.”

Tobirama huffs in reluctant amusement. “More likely he’d just gain something new to shout about. Kagami. Details?”

With a roll of his eyes, Kagami gives in, crossing his arms and leaning back against the post. “A customs agent spotted someone matching the description of Kisame Hoshigaki by the docks last week. Given that the last time Akatsuki split up is roughly _never_ , it’s safe to assume the rest of them are here somewhere too. We know that there's an arms deal going down three days from now, and with Akatsuki’s interests that’s our best bet at finding them.”

Tobirama frowns a little, tapping his fingers against his thigh. He’s heard of Akatsuki; their methods were one of the team’s areas of study when they were training. The thought of them in Konoha is…unpleasant. “You know the parties involved?”

“Only one of them,” Kagami admits. “But that actually makes it more likely that the second is Akatsuki—they're the best in the business at covering their tracks. The one we’re certain about is Baki, rumored to be the leader of the main rebel group in Suna. He got here yesterday and has been staying at the Plaza, and I need you to get up to his room and bug it.”

Since he’s stayed at the Plaza several times himself, Tobirama is at least vaguely familiar with the layout. He frowns, considering it, but eventually nods. “I take it the formal wear is for the restaurant on the ninth floor?”

Kagami beams. “Exactly. Baki’s a man who’s fond of schedules. He has dinner there every night from 8:00 to 9:10. We’ve got reservations for tomorrow at 7:45. As soon as he seems settled, you’ll excuse yourself, go to the roof, and work your magic to get down to his window. Not much security there, so you can get in, bug it, get back out, and rejoin me for dinner before Baki suspects anything.”

It sounds straightforward in theory, but Tobirama knows few things ever are in practice. Still, he sighs softly and inclines his head in agreement. “You can't find anyone else?” he asks, one last try to maintain his current, mostly peaceful life.

Despite that, Kagami smiles like he knows that Tobirama’s already given up, even as he answers, “Nope, sorry. Danzō and Hiruzen are running interference with Baki’s security, Torifu is hacking the security system, Homura is patrolling the halls for any sign of Akatsuki, and Koharu is watching comms and cameras. I could do it, but someone needs to have eyes on Baki in case he leaves early, and you're better at stealth than I am. You're our best bet, Sensei. And besides, aren’t you bored sitting in an office all day? Come on, this’ll be fun!”

“You have a very twisted idea of fun,” Tobirama informs him dryly. “Very well. I suppose no will suspect me of being there for anything more than dinner. Shall I meet you beforehand?”

“Six, if you can tear yourself away from your office that early,” Kagami says with a lopsided smirk. “We’re staying at my apartment, so just head there.” Then the smirk straightens out into a genuine smile, and Kagami reaches out to tap a fist against his shoulder. “It’s great to have you onboard, Sensei,” he offers warmly. “Hasn’t been the same without you.”

Tobirama smiles back, just a little. “Are you competing?” he asks, tilting his head at the mats being cordoned off. The look he levels at the younger man tells him that the only answer he’ll accept is a ‘yes’.

Kagami groans theatrically. “Oh, come on,” he complains. “Like you didn’t beat me up enough during training? Now you want to do it in front of a crowd?”

“If you don’t want him to beat you up, maybe you should try a little harder to win,” a woman says from their left, and on the first syllable Kagami shrieks in surprise like a little girl and almost falls over.

“Koharu,” Tobirama says fondly, sharing a smirk with his female student. “You look as lovely as always.”

“You—you— _How are you still sneaking up on people when you're on crutches_?” Kagami demands, clawing his way back upright. “God damn it, woman!”

“Sensei,” Koharu returns, ignoring Kagami with all the innate poise of a queen despite having one leg in a heavy cast. “You seem well. I look forward to watching your matches.” The faint arch of one brow that she directs at Kagami tells both of them just which match she’s _most_ looking forward to, and Kagami scowls right back at her.

“Witch,” he mutters, but turns on his heel with a low groan and heads for the registration table regardless.

Koharu just smiles, propping her shoulder against the post Kagami was leaning on and shifting her weight off her crutches. “I'm glad you're with us,” she says, not looking at Tobirama. “It’s been too long, Sensei.”

Tobirama doesn’t say anything out loud, but…it really has.

 

 

Madara storms into the Senju house just after dark, still furious and fuming. He’s never met anyone quite as good at making a fool of him as Tobirama, and this morning was simply more of the usual. He wasted an _hour_ searching the streets for the uptight bastard, looking down every side street and questioning passersby. Tobirama is a memorable man, but no one had seen him.

Add to that the fact that Madara _knows_ with complete certainty that he saw Tobirama duck into a certain dead-end alley, only to look there seconds later and see nothing, and Madara is beginning to suspect—

Well. That’s the problem, isn’t it? He has no idea _what_ to suspect, or why he should, but he knows there's something and he’s determined to find it. Hence his presence at the Senju house at a rather impolite hour, even though he’s well aware that it will make Mito give him that particularly unnerving smile when she invites him to be dinner. Er, _to_ dinner. Though she does have a tendency to talk nostalgically about her days carrying a very big gun over the meal, she’s never _actually_ attempted to serve him as the main course.

Madara is fairly certain it’s only a matter of time, and he _still_ can't figure out how a man like Hashirama—who is, to put it bluntly, a loveable moron—ended up with the chillingly polite female version of Rambo. She’s a friend of Tobirama’s, though, and he’s the one who introduced them—that’s likely explanation enough. Not that Madara thinks Hashirama was strong-armed into marrying her, because the man might be a moron but he’s as stubborn as a cement mule, but Hashirama values his brother’s opinion.

He also, Madara thinks a little sourly as he stalks towards the main den, would be overjoyed that Tobirama, being a temperamental, tetchy bastard, was capable of having _friends_ , even if those friends did look like the Navy’s Red Sonja. And—

From the couch, there's a sniffle.

Oh no.

Automatically, Madara turns on his heel, ready to flee back the way he came and give up on his search until tomorrow. Unfortunately, Hashirama’s ability to sense sympathetic suckers (likely the reason he was elected, Madara thinks uncharitably) is as keen as ever, and he raises his head to peer over the back of the sofa. Dark eyes go wide and he scrambles to his feet.

“Madara! There you are! I tried calling but you weren’t answering your phone!” Half a heartbeat later Madara is all but lifted off the ground in a tight hug, and then there's another distinct sniffle.

Oh god.

With an inward groan, Madara reaches up and reluctantly pats Hashirama on the head. “What is it now?” he asks, resigned. “Did something happen at work? Was your brother telling you to shut up again?”

(And really, that’s got to be just about the most amusing thing Madara has ever seen. As witnessed this morning, Tobirama is incredibly good at losing his temper without _looking_ like he is; there's none of the shouting or dramatics or blind rage that other people suffer. Instead, Tobirama gets sharper, and loses whatever control he might have over the knife-edge of his tongue. Not even Hashirama— _especially_ not Hashirama—is spared.)

Hashirama pulls back, finally settling Madara fully back on the ground, the oversized bastard. “Mito’s mad at me,” he says mournfully. “She went to stay with Kushina and I don’t know if she’s coming back. Madara, what do I do?”

That last bit is almost a wail. Madara can't help but roll his eyes, grabbing Hashirama’s shoulder and firmly steering him back to the couch. “Mito will come back once she calms down,” he says decisively. “ _You_ need to think about how to make up for whatever you did, and that I can't help you with.”

“But—”

“No!” Madara plants his hands on his hips and glares at his best friend. “I want nothing to do with that red-haired harpy. Do you remember Christmas? She threw my gift back in my face!”

Hashirama winces. “Well,” he says diplomatically, “I've always been told that it’s a bad idea to buy clothes for women. That’s probably why. And, er, perhaps a swimsuit wasn’t your best option for starting with, Madara.”

Madara sniffs. “Old clothes are fashionable again,” he huffs. “And it’s not as though it was revealing.” Though, now that he thinks of it, even Mikoto seemed to take offense, and she’s generally terrifyingly even-tempered.

“I believe that was the problem,” Hashirama points out, rather delicately. Then again, he’s always been more emotional than Madara; it makes sense that he’s better at reading women. “Mito is a very lovely woman. Giving her the 1920’s equivalent of a sack…”

Annoyed, Madara waves that away. Some people just have no taste. “Whatever. She’s still your problem. I came to find that fool brother of yours. Where is he?”

“Tobirama?” Hashirama sounds faintly surprised. “I assumed he was working late. Mito is generally the one he tells.” There's a beat before his face lights up as he goes gooey-eyed. “Oh! Do you think he _met_ someone? Do you think he’s on a _date_?”

“I pity the poor soul,” Madara says sourly. “Your brother is the most boring man I've ever had the misfortune of conversing with, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. He’s lucky that he’s pretty.”

Oops. He hadn’t quite meant to say that. Madara grimaces, hoping Hashirama will gloss over it, and gives the other man a glare to encourage him to do so. It’s true enough, though; where Hashirama is classically handsome with strong features, Tobirama is sharp-edged and striking, and Madara would have to be blind not to notice. They certainly make an attractive pair, and the media is very fond of pictures featuring them together.

Thankfully, for all his obtuseness, Hashirama does know when to let some things drop. He gives Madara a swift, meaningful half-smile that Madara is very much not going to read into, then reaches for his phone. “I’ll call him,” he says cheerfully. “Maybe he really is on a date! Oh, wouldn’t that be exciting?”

Perhaps someone else would roll their eyes at this clear attempt to interrupt, but Madara is also an older brother, and understands the impulse well. Smirking, he takes a seat on the other end of the couch, listening with interest as the phone—on speaker, of course, because Hashirama has his thoughtful moments—starts to ring.

As is perhaps to be expected, it’s ignored. Undeterred, Hashirama immediately dials again, his beaming smile not faltering in the slightest.

Again, it’s ignored. Hashirama tries a third time.

Half a second before it goes to voicemail again, there's a sharp, almost annoyed click. “Brother,” Tobirama says, vaguely longsuffering. In the background there's a murmur of multiple voices and faint, tinny strains of music—a bar, if Madara had to guess. Which is surprising, because he’s never seen Tobirama as the type to frequent such places. “What is it?”

Immediately, there's a sniffle. It’s almost impressive how fast Hashirama can change gears. “ _Mito is_ —”

“Shut up.”

And that would be Tobirama’s patience—attached not so much to a short leash as it is a short fuse—audibly snapping. Madara holds in a snicker, because confrontations between the brothers are always amusing.

Hashirama jerks, expression shifting to devastated. “But—!”

“ _Brother_.” Tobirama sounds fully exasperated now. “She is _your wife_ , and I have no part in this.”

“But she’s _your_ friend!” Hashirama counters pitifully. “Please, Tobirama, I—”

There's a sudden yelp, a scuffle, and a loud _thunk_ like someone just dropped the phone. Somewhere in the background, Tobirama hisses out something that’s probably a threat but is silenced mid-sentence. Several people are crowing with laughter, someone else is calling what sounds like encouragement, and a woman’s voice is yelling at someone else to get off of ‘Sensei’.

“Sorry, sorry,” a new voice says, male and very cheerful. “We’re commandeering your District Attorney for the night. Don’t worry, we’ll take _very_ good care of him.”

“ _Saru, I am going to take you back to the gym and put you through the fifth week all over again,_ ” Tobirama growls somewhere distant. “ _Give me back my_ —”

Whoever is holding the phone hangs up, cutting off their laughter, and silence falls.

“…Well,” Hashirama says thoughtfully after a moment. “I do hope he’s being safe. Orgies can get quite out of hand.”

 _What_?

Madara replays that in his head to make sure he heard right, and then sends his friend a disbelieving look. “You think he’s having an _orgy_?” he demands. “ _That’s_ what you got out of that conversation?”

The look he receives in return is befuddled. “I think it’s a very reasonable assumption!” Hashirama defends. “They're obviously all close, and if Tobirama didn’t break that man’s fingers for stealing his phone, obviously he’s rather comfortable with them.”

There are so many holes in that theory Madara could drive a subway train through it. He pinches the bridge of his nose and concentrates on ignoring the idiot, because that’s honestly the best way of dealing with him. It’s a ridiculous idea; Madara can hardly even picture the uptight Tobirama unbending enough to have regular sex, let alone a mixed-gender orgy, and—

No. No, he is very much not going to think of Hashirama’s little brother having sex. He is _not_ , no matter how hot it’s possible Tobirama would look flushed and panting, or on his knees with his mouth around—

With a low groan, Madara lists forward to smash his skull against the top of the coffee table in an attempt to drive the images out. It’s…mostly successful.

More successful is remembering that Hashirama is sitting literally sixteen inches from him, and for all his airheaded nature, he’s still an overprotective older brother who will literally _gut_ Madara for picturing his little brother like that.

On cue, Hashirama makes a cheerful noise as he sets his phone on the table. “It’s good he’s having fun,” he says fondly. “What did you need from him, anyway? Can I help?”

Thinking Tobirama is attractive in no way negates Madara's certainty that he is a _massive_ _dick_. With a huff, he crosses his arms, abruptly reminded of his annoyance, and glares at the darkened screen of the television. “The Hanzō case,” he snaps. “I found out he’s planning to call in a witness who will get the whole case tossed out. We’ve put _months_ into this case, and if Tobirama is planning on giving it only half a thought because the lead officers are Uchiha—”

A large hand settles on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and Madara looks up into warm, dark eyes. Hashirama’s such a fool sometimes that it’s hard to remember that he really is a wise, strong leader, always ready to do what’s best for Konoha.

“Tobirama wouldn’t do such a thing,” he says softly. “I know you're doubtful, but I swear it, Madara. He’s been preparing for this case since the moment it landed on his desk, and I haven’t seen him this determined about something in a while. Tobirama has practically devoted his entire existence to his job; he’ll do it well. Just…trust him. The only person I've ever encountered whose sense of justice rivals his is _you_.”

It shouldn’t be comforting. Madara has spent _years_ butting heads with Tobirama over practically everything, and this is no different. They're very different people, for all that they're allies, and don’t often find the middle ground between them.

For all of that, however…well. Madara does find Tobirama to be rather admirable—he’s one of the youngest DAs in Konoha's history, and has a solid case record. Perhaps he should focus on that right now, rather than his anger.

“Why do you think he’s against the Uchiha?” Hashirama asks suddenly. “Has he dismissed cases, or rejected evidence, or…?”

Madara harrumphs, looking away. He hates putting it into words, because it sounds…stupid. “Well,” he huffs, “he always hated Izuna when they were in school together. They were always getting into fights, and Tobirama broke his wrist once!”

There's a long beat of silence, and then Hashirama—

Hashirama _laughs_.

“You—because _Izuna_?” he splutters, face flushed with mirth. “A-and it never occurred to you that Izuna was just as much of a bastard back to him? The fight where he got a broken wrist—he fractured Tobirama’s collarbone! Didn’t you know that?”

He didn’t, and Izuna conveniently left that part out when he was telling the story. Madara narrows his eyes, contemplating just how much of the entire situation Izuna might have glossed over, because he knows his little brother. Izuna is more than capable of being an asshole. If it wasn’t just Tobirama picking on Izuna for no reason…

It doesn’t change _everything_. Tobirama is still a dick. But…maybe he’s a slightly more agreeable dick if he’s not actually rabidly against the Uchiha family’s existence.

Madara sinks back against the cushions, contemplating this turn of events. It has the potential to be…interesting.

 

 

“How is it that Sensei looks like a male model when he dresses up, and you just look like a monkey in a suit?” Koharu asks absently, fiddling with one of the wires in the comm Tobirama is wearing.

“Hey!” Kagami protests from his perch on top of the van. “I do not!”

“You kind of do,” Torifu chimes in cheerfully, though his eyes don’t waver from the programs scrawling across his screen. “And Sensei’s even wearing stuff _under_ his suit.”

“Just exercise clothes, and they're already tight,” Kagami huffs, scowling down at his teammate. “Sensei, why are you just standing there? Aren’t you going to defend your favorite student?”

“ _I'm_ his favorite, so clearly he’s not,” Hiruzen butts in, grinning. He strokes his neatly trimmed goatee and adds, “Obviously he’d pick the more stylish student. Have you even brushed your hair today, Uchiha?”

“Shut up, _Saru_ ,” Kagami parries. “Show some respect for your team leader. And obviously _I'm_ his favorite—I'm the one who got invited to compete yesterday!”

“If it had been judo, he’d have asked me! Besides, you were the first person he saw, that’s all.”

Koharu mutters something entirely uncomplimentary under her breath, then tucks the last wire in, arranges Tobirama’s hair to cover it, and glances up at their former teacher. “Aren’t you going to say something?” she asks dryly. “I don’t think the Director will be impressed if I have to ask for replacement agents because our first and second in command got into a _fistfight_. Over _which one is your favorite_.”

Tobirama raises a brow in return, feeling entirely amused. “I could,” he says, glancing at the bickering young men. “Regardless, I think they're about to—”

“Sensei!” Kagami calls, face twisted into a look of high dudgeon. “Final call: who’s your favorite?”

“Koharu,” Tobirama answers promptly, and the woman laughs. Ignoring the expressions of utter betrayal coming from her teammates, she rolls her chair back and offers Tobirama his oxford and suit jacket.

“You're my favorite too, Sensei,” she assures him. “There. Is it secure enough? Any wires poking out?”

“Is anyone really surprised?” Danzō asks dryly from where he’s leaning against the alley wall and watching with amusement. Tobirama is amused to note that he does indeed look like an extra from the Sopranos. “Utatane is the only one who managed to keep up with Sensei during the final.”

Kagami goes about three shades paler, while Hiruzen looks rather faint. “I’d rather not think about that. At all. Ever,” Hiruzen mutters. “It was _hell_.”

“It was fun,” Koharu counters. “Remember the jump between those two buildings?”

“The twenty-story ones? Yeah, it frequently features in my nightmares,” Kagami huffs, crossing his arms. “Okay, fine, I can accept that Koharu is your favorite, because she’s _insane_ and birds of a feather and all. But out of the _guys_ , who’s your favorite?”

Koharu looks up from her system check, expression mildly curious in a way that still somehow manages to be a pointed threat. “Are you saying I'm not one of the guys?” she asks.

Kagami flounders, because there's clearly no good way to answer that. With a snort, Tobirama finishes buttoning up his coat and checks his watch. “If the rest of you are ready, we should go,” he reminds Kagami.

“Bugs?” Torifu checks.

Tobirama fishes the small case from the pocket of his coat. “I even know how to take the casing off so the adhesive will stick,” he says dryly, and Torifu gives him a slightly sheepish grin.

“Comms check, one two three. Any problems?” Koharu asks into her mic.

“Loud and clear.” Kagami slips down from his perch, landing lightly, and offers Tobirama his arm with a grin. “Sensei. I don’t suppose you put out on the first date?”

Tobirama rolls his eyes, but lets Kagami pull him towards the street. “Only for people who can last longer than two minutes in the ring with me.”

The very clear sound of snickering comes over the comms. “Did anyone time it?” Homura asks interestedly. “I’d bet it wasn’t even that long. Maybe a minute forty? No sign of Akatsuki on my end, by the way. If they're here already, they're keeping out of sight.”

“A minute thirty-five is my bet,” Danzō puts in. Tobirama spots him coming around the corner of the building, a mobile pressed to his ear, before he vanishes into the evening crowd.

“You all _suck_ ,” Kagami mutters, even as he steps forward to pull open the Plaza’s main door for Tobirama. “It was four minutes at least, okay?”

“I can pull up the security footage,” Torifu volunteers. “I caught a glimpse of the cameras at the gym; they use an internet cache to store the footage, so it should be easy enough to find it. Just hack the account and—”

“Enough,” Tobirama says, faintly annoyed, and is a little gratified to hear them all instantly go quiet. “Focus, please. Danzō, Saru, if you're coming in this way there are two very large men in the lounge who seem to be heavily armed.”

“Acknowledged,” Hiruzen confirms. “We’re about seventy-five seconds behind you, and we’ll take a look.”

As they head towards the elevators, Koharu makes a faintly frustrated noise. “Kagami, you're walking along with an extremely attractive man on your arm but you can't even be bothered to look at him. Do I need to get my suit and take over for you? You're having dinner at the Plaza, so no one is going to buy the ‘just friends’ excuse. This is supposed to be a _date_.”

“What am I supposed to do, flutter my lashes at him?” Kagami mutters, but he casts a sideways grin at Tobirama regardless and offers, “You look really good tonight, Tobirama.” The grin widens, and he adds, “I have to say, though, I like that slinky little black number even better.”

A passing maid does a double-take, and Tobirama gives Kagami a look. When the grin shows no signs of fading, he gives in and rolls his eyes. “Lycra is easy to move in,” he says blandly. “And I can't put you in a joint-lock while we’re on a date, but I'm absolutely certain I’ll see you afterwards. Would you really care to test me further, Kagami?”

“Oh, please do. Judo’s always been my favorite.” Torifu sounds entirely enthusiastic at the idea. “Sensei, that grappling hold you used on Homura in the final was amazing. I've been meaning to ask if you’d teach me.”

“Of course,” Tobirama agrees as the elevator doors slide shut. “My newest case goes to court on Thursday, but I’d be happy to show you any time before that.”

Kagami mutters something that might be ‘suck-up’, but doesn’t dwell on it. “All right. Homura, still nothing? And Torifu, anything in the reservations that stands out?”

“Not so far,” Torifu answers. “No known aliases, at least, and no names are pinging the search.”

“Negative,” Homura murmurs. “I just cleared the twelfth floor. Nothing’s been tampered with that I could see, and if Akatsuki’s stashed gear somewhere, I'm not finding it.”

“Akatsuki sticks to military and industrial targets, though,” Koharu counters. “They wouldn’t blow up the hotel, especially if one of their contacts is inside.”

Danzō snorts. “They're criminals. They could escalate. We have no idea what they're doing here, and this deal is only our best guess. Hiruzen, three o’clock.”

“I see him,” Hiruzen answers, then directs to everyone else, “Guard at the base of the stairwell—I recognize him. One of the Baki’s bodyguards. If this goes south, I’d say avoid the west stairwell. He’ll be a bastard to get around.”

“If this goes south, I’ll hardly be taking the stairs down,” Tobirama says dryly. The doors open, and he pauses, hanging back as Kagami greets the maître d so he can scan the dining room. There are a few familiar face, but none enough so that he’s required to interrupt his evening to say hello. More importantly, his brother isn’t present, which is a great relief—Hashirama has sometimes been known to apologize by bringing Mito here for dinner, and that would one complication too many in an already complicated situation.

Despite Koharu’s warnings, Kagami is an attentive date. He strikes up a conversation about Tobirama’s recent trip to Kiri that lasts through the first course and right up to the arrival of a tall man with distinctive red tattoos on his right cheek. Tobirama recognizes Baki from the file picture, and carefully doesn’t pay attention as he takes a table to their left.

“I heard Ao is going to start pushing for reforms,” Kagami says as he casually reaches up to tap his comm twice, covering the motion by brushing a wayward strand of hair behind his ear.

Tobirama inclines his head, picking absently at the remainders of his appetizer. “Mei Terumi is a very progressive woman,” he agrees. “Ao is lucky, because she’s been pushing for the same reforms since well before she took office. After the massive corruption in the former city leadership—” His phone rings, and Tobirama reaches for it automatically, praying that it isn’t Hashirama again. But it’s Koharu instead, and he knows that’s the signal.

“Forgive me, Kagami,” he says, pushing his chair back to stand. “It’s about my new case. If you want to cut the night short, I understand—”

Kagami laughs, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re not back by the time the waiter comes by, I’ll order for you. Take your time.”

“Thank you.” Tobirama touches his shoulder, then strides past him, answering the call. “Hello?”

“Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Koharu says dryly, voice doubled through both the comm and the phone. “Homura double-checked your route; the path to the roof is clear, and he picked the lock on the door. The security camera up there is dead, so you're good to go.”

There's too much of a risk of being seen if he takes the elevator, so as soon as he hangs up Tobirama ducks into the stairwell and starts climbing. It leads right up to the rooftop access, and he’s already stripping out of his jacket when he reaches the door. He leaves the suit folded up off to the side, redistributing the contents of his pockets to a climber’s pack and tugging a knitted cap down over his pale hair.

“I would like to point out that freerunning is an athletic expression of freedom of movement and fluidity of motion in an urban environment,” he mutters as he switches out his loafers for the thin-soled running shoes Homura stashed for him. “This is more akin to cat burglary.”

“ _Sanctioned_ cat burglary,” Hiruzen reminds him cheerfully. “You're officially a consultant on this op, Sensei. Tell us when you're ready. Danzō and I will stage a drunken fight and take out the security.”

Tobirama takes a deep breath, bracing himself, and heads for the southern corner of the building. There's a chain-link fence around the edge of the roof, but he scales it without effort, dropping down the far side to land in a crouch on the very edge. The streetlights beneath him cast just enough light that he can see the wall, but the drop is dizzying and for a moment the cold wind steals his breath completely. The first trickle of adrenaline hits his system, sharpening everything into crystal clarity, and he’s suddenly impossibly aware of his own heartbeat.

“Thirteenth floor, five windows over from the corner,” Koharu says quietly. “Good luck, Sensei.”

“Luck is overrated,” Tobirama answers, smiling faintly. “Thank you, Koharu. I'm going now.”

 Another breath and he moves, running lightly along the ledge until the corner is blow him. Then he drops, swings his legs out over the edge, and pushes off.

Air rushes past him, almost as loud as his heart, but he already has a hand out, snagging the edge of the stone gutter as one foot lands on the narrow sill of decorative stone. A jump, using the momentum, and he snags the bottom of a window as he drops down to the next level. There are no footholds in the stone here, but Tobirama digs his fingers into a groove between two worn bricks and doesn’t fight the drag of gravity, only redirects it. If he pushes off even an ounce too hard, or misses a single step, he won't be able to stop himself falling fourteen stories, which is good incentive not to miss.

Another half-jump puts him on the very edge of an old air conditioner which creaks threateningly beneath his weight, and Tobirama abandons his perch immediately, trying not to lose too much momentum. His hands catch on a window frame as his shoes scrape, then hold, and he shifts left and lets himself fall. There's a tight, tense sound over the comms, but Tobirama ignores it, catching one of the very ugly gargoyle-shaped rainspouts for half an instant before jumping left.

This time when he lands on the narrow sill, he hangs on and doesn’t move.

There's a moment of silence, and then Koharu breathes out slowly. “Fuck me sideways,” she says, sounding awed. “Sensei, you're amazing. And the room’s clear—Danzō and Hiruzen have Baki’s security thoroughly occupied.”

“No security on the windows,” Torifu confirms. “You’ll have to pop the lock from the outside, but it should open with no problems.”

That’s slightly trickier than Tobirama would prefer, but there's adrenaline pounding through his system and a startling edge of focus to his thoughts that he’s missed, and he shifts enough to get to the latch without falling to his death. Tobirama is unspeakably grateful that this is a very old hotel and still has the original façade. Doing this is a sleek new high-rise would be impossible.

About to pull out the small tool Homura provided for opening the lock from the outside, Tobirama pauses. The window is cracked open just slightly, and he raises a brow in disbelief. “It’s open,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers into the gap and pushing it up. It slides easily, without a sound, and Tobirama hooks his fingers into the stonework and swings himself through.

Kagami makes a vaguely offended sound. “What kind of criminal looking to buy multiple small arms leaves his window open?” he protests quietly. “That’s just—stupid.”

“Still think luck’s overrated?” Koharu asks wryly. “Okay, you’ve got the bugs?”

“Planting them now,” Tobirama confirms, pulling out the case.

He’s just placed the first one when Kagami says very softly. “Oh fuck.”

Tobirama doesn’t let himself freeze, even though that’s his first reaction. Instead, he moves faster, scattering bugs in the most inconspicuous places he can find.

“‘Oh fuck’?” Homura repeats, sounding like he’s a moment away from panicking. “Kagami, what’s happening? This is not the type of op where you should be saying that.”

Kagami ignores him. “Sensei, you said you were trying Hanzō’s case this week? Is he out on bail yet?”

There's a faint sinking feeling in Tobirama’s gut. “Yes,” he answers, mind already connecting the pieces. “He’s there? Meeting with Baki?”

“Just showed up with a security detail,” Kagami confirms lowly. “Baki’s getting up, and they're leaving. Sensei, get out of there _now_.”

“Elevator or stairs?” Tobirama demands, already heading back to the window. He doesn’t give himself time to think about the drop, just swings out and eases the glass mostly closed again.

There's a pause as Kagami assesses, and then he answers, “Elevator. Four other people on it. Are you out?”

Tobirama grunts an acknowledgement as he scans for the best path back up. He’d thought he would have more time, but this changes things. And he’s well aware that Hanzō is the type of paranoid that will check outside the window for eavesdroppers or sound equipment, even on the thirteenth floor.

“Damn it,” Koharu curses. “Sensei, they just got to your floor. Can you move?”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” Tobirama growls, but—there. Two floors down is another open window. Down is far easier than up, and much faster. Tobirama doesn’t particularly want to barge into someone’s room, but between that option and staying where he is, he’ll pick the rudeness. Given how he’s dressed, people likely won't recognize him, and he can always say he was practicing his rock climbing and their open window saved him from falling to his death. It’s a terrible excuse, but maybe he can pull it off.

Compared to the descent before, this one is child’s play. Tobirama hops to the next window over, grabs another gargoyle waterspout, and hooks a hand around it as he lets himself fall. He kicks off the wall, twists his body, and lets go, and the momentum carries him right through the wide-open window. The roll on landing is instinctive, and Tobirama comes to his feet in a smooth motion, catching his breath. His heart is pounding with the near miss, because Hanzō is a vicious man with no mercy, and getting caught by him would be akin to signing his own death certificate—

“ _Senju_?” a very familiar voice demands incredulously, and Tobirama only just manages not to swear out loud.

Of course. Out of all the people staying here, out of all the rooms he could have landed in, it had to be this one.

“Madara,” he returns coolly, turning to give the other man a polite nod as the Uchiha rises from his chair. There are papers spread out on the low table, beside the half-eaten remains of a meal, and Madara is dressed like he’s come from work. He also looks understandably startled, with the beginnings of a temper brewing.

Tobirama strangles a sigh and reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Kagami,” he says sharply, “if you could retrieve my clothes before your uncle finds a reason to arrest me, I would be grateful.”

Kagami makes a horrified, half-strangled sound. “Uncle _Madara_?” he yelps. “Why the hell is _he_ here?”

“Kagami?” Madara demands at the same moment. “Kagami _Uchiha_? My _nephew_?”

Tobirama is absolutely certain he won't be getting out of this situation without a migraine at the very least. “Yes,” he says to both men, and then to Kagami, “I seem to have landed in his room, as it was the first open window I spotted. Kagami. _Clothes_.”

“I've got them,” Danzō volunteers, through what sounds like a bloody nose. “Hiruzen is on his way to meet up with you, Homura. Security chased us off.”

A hand plucks the comm from Tobirama’s ear, and he glances up with some annoyance to see Madara scowling at him. “I thought you were a _lawyer_ , not Catwoman,” the Uchiha huffs. “In fact, I think I even remember going to your law school graduation. Why the hell are you swinging through windows like Tarzan? Haven’t you noticed I'm on the _eleventh floor_ , you suicidal moron?!”

Tobirama glares right back, crossing his arms and refusing to be intimidated. Madara is almost constantly yelling. It’s aggravating. “I'm consulting,” he snaps. “Kagami requested my help, and I agreed.”

Madara looks half a step from homicidal. “ _Consulting_?” he splutters. “No, _consulting_ would be if I asked you whether in your professional opinion it would be legal for me to punch you in the face! This is—this is— _this is not consulting_!”

The look that Madara's wearing is a familiar one that Tobirama has seen many times. It means he’s about to launch into a rant that will last well into the night, not leaving space for anyone else to interject. Given that he just threw himself down the outside of a fifteen story building without safety equipment, and then came uncomfortably close to getting caught by one of the most ruthless human and arms traffickers in the country, Tobirama is decidedly not in the mood to hear it. Nothing he’s tried before has ever been capable of shutting Madara up, so…maybe it’s time to try something new.

With a low growl, Tobirama throws himself forward, making Madara yelp and knocking the other man back into the side of the large bed. They overbalance, Madara landing half-on the mattress with Tobirama on top of him, and Tobirama doesn’t wait for him to start yelling again. He presses his mouth to Madara's, kissing him hard.

There's a moment of shocked stillness before a long-fingered hand fists in his hair. The other snakes down, grabbing a handful of his ass and yanking him up and closer, and Tobirama makes an involuntary noise of pleasure, jolting at the sudden, demanding strength. Madara rolls them, pinning Tobirama down on the covers, and kisses back even harder, prying Tobirama’s mouth open and pressing forward.

Despite himself, Tobirama moans, curling a hand around Madara's nape as his other finds Madara's hip. Madara makes a hungry sound, palm skimming over Tobirama’s side and then across his stomach, and he breaks the kiss to bite at the line of Tobirama’s neck. The little flares of sensation send shocks straight to Tobirama’s groin, and he bites back a cry as he hitches his hips up.

“Fuck,” Madara breathes, planting his hands on either side of Tobirama’s head as he pulls back slightly, staring down at Tobirama with his hair spilling around them. His black eyes are wild with want, and his breathing is heavy. Tobirama can feel it gust across his skin, can feel Madara pressed against every inch of his body, and with a low groan he tips his head back and closes his eyes, trying not to lose control.

Fingers cup his cheek, stroking silvery-white hair away from his face, and Tobirama opens his eyes to find Madara bare inches from him. His breath hitches, and something like lust flows across Madara's face, tempered by an edge that’s nearly awe. The Uchiha clears his throat roughly, then asks, “I take it this wasn’t part of whatever harebrained scheme my nephew roped you into?”

It takes more concentration than it should for Tobirama to shake his head. “None of the last ten minutes has gone to plan at all,” he admits. “But you _never stop shouting_ and I wasn’t in the mood to listen.”

There's a spark of what might be well-hidden humor as Madara lets his hand slide down the center of Tobirama’s chest. He brings one knee up under him, sliding it slowly between Tobirama’s legs, and levers himself up. Tobirama nearly cries out at the sudden loss of contact, but half a heartbeat later Madara's mouth is on his again, furious and intense.

“I've wanted to shut your damn mouth with my cock for far longer than I’d care to admit,” he breathes against Tobirama’s lips. “Care to see how well it works?”

The confession startles half a laugh out of Tobirama, and he curls his fingers into the wild hair that’s fascinated him for years. It seems impossible that something so unruly could feel as soft as silk against his skin. “Since I've wanted to try sucking your stubborn idiocy out through your cock since I was fifteen, I think you have a deal,” he answers, and is incredibly satisfied by the way Madara groans, low and heated and full of want.

Madara pushes his knee up further, pressing against Tobirama’s balls and hardening dick, and he throws his head back with a low cry. Above him Madara swears, and then hands are sliding under his tight shirt, pulling it up and over his head and knocking the watch cap off in the same motion. “You are _maddening_ ,” he complains, but he’s too breathless to make it sound like an insult.

Tobirama hooks a leg around Madara's hip, gets an elbow underneath himself, and rolls them. “I could say the same,” he huffs, fingers flying across the buttons of Madara's shirt. Madara sits up to let him get it and the undershirt off, and then slides his fingers under the waistband of Tobirama’s pants, tugging them down. One hand slides around to his ass, then grips tightly as the heel of Madara's other hand presses hard against his cock, and Tobirama doesn’t try to fight the short, rough sound that’s wrenched from his throat.

Madara's next roll nearly carries them over the far side of the bed, but before Tobirama can try for the upper hand again, Madara sits back on his heels, tugging Tobirama’s shoes and socks off and then pulling his pants all the way down. He tosses them carelessly to the side, but doesn’t otherwise move, gaze raking over Tobirama’s body in long, slow sweeps.

“You want this?” he asks, low and rough.

Tobirama props himself up on one elbow, raising a brow at him. “I could ask the same,” he retorts. “Given that you’ve hated me since I was fourteen, I think I _should_ ask. Are you certain, Madara? This is very…sudden.”

“I thought you were bullying my brother in school,” Madara says, rolling his eyes. “Forgive me for not considering you a paragon of virtue after that. But I spoke with Izuna, and I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you. Even when I disliked you.”

For a moment, Tobirama considers this, but honestly, it’s a far better start than he would have ever anticipated. And beyond that, he’s been drawn to Madara since he was a child. The chance to finally have him like this, not even as an outpouring of frustration or sudden bout of hate-sex, and Tobirama is hardly about to say no.

He takes a breath, lets it out, and sits up fully. When he reaches out, Madara catches his hand and pulls it to his bare chest. “Good?” he asks, voice catching slightly.

“Good,” Tobirama agrees, tracing the obvious muscles down to the top of his slacks. He pops the button slowly, makes a show of carefully dragging the zipper down, and tugs the pants down Madara's hips. The other man leans back against the headboard, arching his hips so Tobirama can pull the slacks off completely.

It’s difficult not to get distracted, even with his goal so close. Tobirama presses a kiss to Madara's abs, flicking lightly with his tongue, and gets a low growl and a hand twisting into his hair for the trouble. Madara pulls him up, leaning forward to claim his mouth, and his hand curls around Tobirama’s cock, making him moan. Two long, slow strokes, callused fingers dragging over delicate skin, and Tobirama chokes out a groan that Madara eagerly swallows. But then the hand slides away, dipping down to tug lightly at his balls and then slip over his perineum. Fingers push there, sliding with just enough force over sensitive nerves, and Tobirama whines low in his throat as pleasure shivers through him like struck crystal. He leans forward, pressing his lips to Madara's pale throat and then scraping lightly with his teeth. Madara's breath hitches, and it makes him smile.

“I thought you wanted my mouth?” he asks when he can drag up enough breath from lungs that feel too small in the very best way. “Don’t you? My mouth on your cock, wet and tight, so _hot_ —have you imagined me on my knees for you, Madara?”

Madara groans like he’s in pain, then grabs Tobirama’s shoulders and shoves him down. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hiss. “Yes, _now_.”

Tobirama laughs softly as he lets himself be guided. Madara's boxers are tented, one patch wet with precome, and Tobirama fits his mouth over the silk-covered erection without pause. Madara cries out, one hand fisting in the covers, the other finding purchase in Tobirama’s hair, and he bucks his hips up desperately. Tobirama takes pity on him, allowing himself one long, slow drag of his mouth before he grabs the boxers and tugs them down, allowing Madara's cock to spring free. It’s thick and hot with heavy veins, rock-hard, and Tobirama moans as he closes him mouth around it, letting it lie heavily on his tongue.

Madara makes a sound that’s very close to a whimper, and manages to groan out, “ _Please_.”

Agreeably, Tobirama dips forward, letting his eyes close as the shaft slides towards the back of his throat. He doesn’t try to take all of it, closing his hand around the base and stroking up as he withdraws, then down as he dips back in until he’s found the rhythm of it. Madara is twitching in his hold, small, aborted jerks of his hips, fist tightening in Tobirama’s hair. It’s good, the heady taste and smell, the sharp awareness of Madara's grip on him, the way Madara moans and tips his head back, gasping out a warning. Tobirama ignores it, dropping his hand and pressing down, curving himself over Madara just as he shouts and comes, the bitter-salt taste of his release spilling down Tobirama’s throat.

Tobirama waits until Madara's done, suckling gently, and then gets his knees under himself and sits up. His own cock is still hard between his legs, aching for release, and he reaches for it, intending to bring himself off. Before he can, though, a hand closes around his arm, yanking him forward against Madara's chest, and Madara kisses him desperately. Tobirama moans, breaking into a gasp when Madara's hand closes around him, and Madara swallows his short cry.

There's a hand on his ass, fingers sliding down his crack and pressing at his hole, and Tobirama shudders as his nerves light up, twofold pleasure like lightning in his veins. Madara breaks the kiss to bring his fingers to his mouth, sliding them in and then drawing them out as he licks them. His eyes catch Tobirama’s, holding them as that hand shifts back around. Two fingers dip inside him, hardly wet enough to make it comfortable, but it’s sufficient. They drag against his walls, pressing and stretching, and Tobirama cries out, pressing his face into the curve of Madara's shoulder. Madara chuckles, low and warm, against his ear, and hooks his fingers at the same moment as he twists his hand just under the head of Tobirama’s cock. It takes effort not to scream at the nova-bright burst of pleasure that crackles through him, and he grips Madara's shoulders desperately, trying not to just thrust wildly into that perfect grip or back onto the probing fingers.

“Fuck,” Madara whispers against his skin, like a kiss. “Look at you. Maybe my cock in your mouth isn’t the only way to shut you up. You’d like it here too, hmm?” For emphasis, he twists his fingers, pressing hard into Tobirama’s prostate, strokes tight over his cock, and catches Tobirama’s mouth with his own. All the breath seizes in Tobirama’s throat as he comes, a flashfire of sensation and blissful release, and the world greys for a moment.

When it steadies, he’s still kissing Madara, but more gently now. The lips on his are softer, teasing without intent, and Tobirama sighs, letting Madara roll them over onto the mattress again. He curls an arm over the man’s shoulders, spreads his legs a little more so Madara will fit better between them, and absently hopes that Koharu had the sense to mute his comm before everything started getting…involved. He can hardly bring himself to care at the moment, though.

Madara breaks their lazy kiss with a soft sigh, hand stroking down Tobirama’s side and making him shiver as oversensitive nerves hum faintly. He leans down, mouth closing over the skin of Tobirama’s neck, and sucks hard. Tobirama jerks, a moan spilling from his throat, and his arm tightens across Madara's back. “Nn,” he manages. “What are you—ah!”

Madara finally pulls back, a satisfied smile on his lips, and gently kisses the rapidly darkening mark he made. “Don’t pretend you're not enjoying it, Senju,” he murmurs against Tobirama’s skin, and goes for another.

Tobirama valiantly attempts to uncurl his toes. “If I go back to the house looking like I lost a fight with an amorous vacuum cleaner, even my brother will notice,” he points out dryly. “I don’t mind telling him, but is that really the way you want to do it?”

With a discontented noise, Madara finally lifts his head to grimace. “We have to tell your brother?” he asks halfheartedly.

“Mm.” Tobirama threads his fingers through Madara's long hair again, marveling at the texture. All the Uchiha have beautiful hair, but Madara's, as wild as it looks, is one of the softest things Tobirama has felt. “If you want this to happen more than once we do,” he says, and pretends he isn’t holding his breath a little as he waits for Madara's response.

Madara groans, tilting forward to bury his face in the mattress beside Tobirama’s head. “Let’s run away to Aruba instead. He’ll never find us there.”

Well. That certainly wasn’t the answer Tobirama was expecting. He chuckles, combing through Madara's hair absently as he responds, “No, but Mito would, and she’ll be hurt if we don’t tell her.”

“You mean she’d hurt _me_ ,” Madara manages to get out, though it’s muffled by the blanket.

“Well. That too,” Tobirama agrees, and is just about to suggest a shower—possibly or possibly not with ulterior motives—when there's a loud, enthusiastic knock on the door.

“Sensei!” Hiruzen calls. “Since you seem a little busy _getting_ busy, we’re leaving your clothes out here!”

“I'm _traumatized_!” Kagami adds helpfully. “Oh my _god_ , Sensei. I'm going to need _therapy_! You're screwing my uncle and it’s _horrifying_! How could you do this to your favorite student?”

Tobirama is going to drown them. He’s going to drown them in a _mud puddle_.

There's a loud crack and two yelps of pain, then the sound of hurrying footsteps. “And _don’t come back_ ,” Koharu adds threateningly. Tobirama can practically see her waving her crutch after them. She pauses, sighs, and then adds with far less volume than the boys, “Call us later, Sensei. I can only hold them back so long.”

She thumps down the corridor, and in the distance Tobirama can hear her yelling at Hiruzen and Kagami again.

There's a reason why Koharu is his favorite.

“ _You're_ the brat’s beloved sensei?” Madara asks, faintly incredulous as he picks his head up again to stare at Tobirama. “The one who knows fifty kinds of martial arts?”

“Six,” Tobirama corrects, rolling his eyes. “One of which is tai chi. Kagami exaggerates.”

Madara harrumphs grumpily. “Well, I wish I’d known that when he first started talking about you,” he complains. “There's no way you hate the Uchiha if you put up with Kagami for months on end without strangling him. I’d almost rather say you have the patience of a saint.”

“The wonderful thing about being a combat instructor,” Tobirama drawls, “is that I got to beat them up every time they aggravated me.”

For a moment, Madara considers this. Then he hums. “That is a perk.” Shifting back a little, he looks down at Tobirama and offers with a faintly crooked smile, “We could have been doing this a long time ago.”

Tobirama contemplates it, but ends up just shrugging. “I don’t mind where we’ve ended up,” he admits.

Madara laughs. “Neither do I,” he says, leaning down to steal another kiss. “The only thing that would make it better is Hanzō in jail.”

“About that,” Tobirama offers, deliberately offhand. “Would you say that meeting with foreign suspected rebel leaders regarding the sale of small arms violates the terms of his bail?”

Madara's head jerks up, his eyes narrowing, and then he smiles viciously. It shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is. “I don’t know,” he purrs, and kisses Tobirama again. This time it tastes like a victory. “You're the lawyer, so you tell me. But I'm fairly certain I can arrest him for it. Which room did you say you came from again?”

“1365,” Tobirama answers breathlessly, and wraps both arms around Madara to pull him down into a hungry kiss.


End file.
